At the house of madame de Valentinois I met the maréchale de Luxembourg, who had recently returned from Chanteloup. There really was something of infatuation in the general mania which seemed to prevail of treating the king’s sentiments with indifference, and considering his displeasure as an affair of no consequence. Before the disgrace of the Choiseuls they were equally the objects of madame de Luxembourg’s most bitter hatred, nor was madame de Grammont backward in returning her animosity; yet, strange as it may seem, no sooner was the Choiseul party exiled, than the maréchale never rested till she saw her name engraved on the famous pillar erected to perpetuate the remembrance of all those who had visited the exiles. She employed their mutual friends to effect a reconciliation, which was at length effected by letter, and a friendly embrace exchanged by proxy. These preliminaries over, the maréchale came to the king to make the request to which he had now become accustomed, but which did not the less amuse him. Of course Louis XV made no hesitation in granting her the request she solicited. Speaking to me of the subject, he said, “The tender meeting of madame de Grammont and the maréchal de Luxembourg must indeed be an overpowering sight; I only trust these two ladies may not drop the mask too soon, and bite each other’s ear while they are embracing.”
Madame de Luxembourg, daughter of the duc de Villeroi, had been first married to the duc de Boufflers, whose brows she helped to adorn with other ornaments than the ducal coronet; nor whilst her youth and beauty lasted was she less generous to her second husband: she was generally considered a most fascinating woman, from the loveliness of her person and the vivacity of her manners; but behind an ever ready wit, lurked the most implacable malice and hatred against all who crossed her path or purpose. As she advanced in life she became more guarded and circumspect, until at last she set herself up as the arbitress of high life, and the youthful part of the nobility crowded around her, to hear the lessons of her past experience. By the number and by the power of her pupils, she could command both the court and city; her censures were dreaded, because pronounced in language so strong and severe, as to fill those who incurred them with no hope of ever shining in public opinion whilst so formidable a veto was uttered against them; and her decrees, from which there was no appeal, either stamped a man with dishonour, or introduced him as a first-rate candidate for universal admiration and esteem, and her hatred was as much dreaded as ever her smiles had been courted: for my own part, I always felt afraid of her, and never willingly found myself in her presence.
After I had obtained for madame de Valentinois the boon I solicited, I was conversing with the king respecting madame de Luxembourg, when the chancellor entered the room; he came to relate to his majesty an affair which had occasioned various reports, and much scandal. The viscount de Bombelles, an officer in an hussar regiment, had married a mademoiselle Camp, Reasons, unnecessary for me to seek to discover, induced him, all at once, to annul his marriage, and profiting by a regulation which forbade all good Catholics from intermarrying with those of the reformed religion, He demanded the dissolution of his union with mademoiselle Camp. This attempt on his part to violate, upon such grounds, the sanctity of the nuptial vow, whilst it was calculated to rekindle the spirit of religious persecution, was productive of very unfavourable consequences to the character of M. de Bombelles; the great cry was against him, he stood alone and unsupported in the contest, for even the greatest bigots themselves would not intermeddle or appear to applaud a matter which attacked both honour and good feeling: the comrades of M. de Bombelles refused to associate with him; but the finishing stroke came from his old companions at the military school, where he had been brought up. On the 27th of November, 1771, the council of this establishment wrote him the following letter:—
“The military school have perused with equal indignation and grief the memorials which have appeared respecting you in the public prints. Had you not been educated in this establishment, we should merely have looked upon your affair with mademoiselle Camp as a scene too distressing for humanity and it would have been buried in our peaceful walls beneath the veil of modesty and silence; but we owe it to the youth sent to us by his majesty, for the inculcation of those principles which become the soldier as the man, not to pass over the present opportunity of inspiring them with a just horror of your misguided conduct, as well as feeling it an imperative duty to ourselves not to appear indifferent to the scandal and disgraceful confusion your proceedings have occasioned in the capital. We leave to the ministers of our religion, and the magistrates who are appointed to guard our laws, to decide upon the legality of the bonds between yourself and mademoiselle Camp, but by one tribunal you are distinctly pronounced guilty towards her, and that is the tribunal of honour, before that tribunal which exists in the heart of every good man. You have been universally cited and condemned. There are some errors which all the impetuosity of youth is unable to excuse, and yours are unhappily of that sort. The different persons composing this establishment, therefore, concur not only in praying of us to signify their sentiments, but likewise to apprize you, that you are unanimously forbidden to appear within these walls again.”
The chancellor brought to the king a copy of this severe letter, to which I listened with much emotion, nor did the king seem more calm than myself.
“This is, indeed,” said he at length, “a very sad affair; we shall have all the quarrels of Protestantism renewed, as if I had not had already enough of those of the Jansenists and Jesuits. As far as I can judge, M. de Bombelles is entitled to the relief he seeks, and every marriage contracted with a Protestant is null and void by the laws of France.”
“Oh, sire,” cried I, “would I had married a Protestant.”
The king smiled for a moment at my jest, then resumed:
“I blame the military school.”
“Is it your majesty’s pleasure,” inquired the chancellor, “that I should signify your displeasure to them?”